


Better Than Revenge

by kth



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha twins - Freeform, Derek Has Issues, Derek Needs To Use His Words, Handcuffs, Jealous Derek, Librarians, M/M, Pack Dynamics, Possessive Behavior, The Alpha Pack, Virginity, You smell delicious, heat - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 09:56:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/822963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kth/pseuds/kth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deucalion pokes at the ground with his cane, narrowly misses taking out a baby spruce. “Mm, you know it isn’t really a party with just two, Hale.” He smiles and, yeah, Stiles is scared shitless but also a little bit turned on.</p><p>A story featuring one alpha pack and one long, hot summer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Than Revenge

**Author's Note:**

> Guys, this is not season 3 compliant. This is what I hope will happen in season 3 based solely on previews.  
> In my mind Derek's theme song for this story is the song Better Than Revenge by Taylor Swift. 'Cause that's how he rolls.  
> Inspiration and Deucalion's line stolen from [this](http://devildoll.tumblr.com/post/51031556542/you-guys-if-deucalion-really-is-blind-i-would-pay) tumblr post by devildoll.

It’s the hottest summer on record in Beacon Hills. Stiles is at home, windows and screen doors flung open, wearing next to nothing to escape the heat. The air inside is stale and unmoving but outside it’s worse. Outside the sun is blistering, waiting to redden his too-pale skin. 

His dad’s at work. Scott has escaped to the beach with Allison. He alone is left to fight the heat. The air conditioner went out two days ago and he hasn’t been able to find anyone to fix it yet. To compensate he’s set up all of the fans he could find in the house, stripped down to his boxers, and is lying on the relatively cool tile floor of the kitchen. 

His lips feel dry, parched. Sweat runs down his temples and gathers in the small of his back sticking him unpleasantly to the floor. Somewhere nearby a fly is buzzing but he can’t be bothered to find it. 

Beneath the sounds of the whirring fans and the fly he begins to register the sound of an engine, approaching the house before switching off. 

Footsteps, outside of the open door or maybe a front window, and then closer, inside of the house. Hazily he thinks that he should be concerned, that he should probably be prepared to take out the intruder, but he can’t muster the energy. 

At first he thinks that he’s hallucinating when he looks up and sees Derek Hale’s face staring down at him. A mirage, he thinks, nothing more. Why would Derek Hale be in his kitchen?

Apparently the heat is just as bad for wolves; Derek is down to a flimsy tank top and unbelievably denim shorts that at one time were likely jeans. The material of his top is almost translucent with sweat, sticking indecently to his abdomen.

“Shouldn’t you be off in a cave somewhere?” Stiles barks. He knows it’s silly, Derek doesn’t live in a cave, but the idea sounds nice to Stiles. A cool, dim cave. 

“I’m looking for Scott,” Derek says, ignoring Stiles’ cave comment completely. 

“He’s with Allison. At the beach. He’s left me here to die, alone, from heat stroke. My poor dad will find my body sometime tomorrow, I’ll be all rotten and smelly from the heat.”

Derek’s scowl deepens. Without another word he turns and leaves the kitchen. Stiles hears the car engine start back up and then slowly fade into the distance. Not much of a conversationalist, that Derek. 

The longer that Stiles remains on the floor, the louder the buzzing of the fly becomes and the more suffocating the air around him feels, until he finally can’t take any more. He goes upstairs and changes into a pair of swimming trunks and, reluctantly, a t-shirt before setting off in the Jeep to find cooler ground. 

He ends up at the lake just on the outskirts of the woods. It isn’t a particularly large lake, or a particularly clean one, which is why local swimmers don’t often use it. Stiles parks the Jeep on the road and enters the woods. 

Under the cover of the trees he immediately feels cooler; here, the sun is shielded and he is surrounded by living, breathing green. He approaches the bank of the lake, eyeing the calm water. Smooth blue stretched out before him and he doesn’t think anything has ever looked so inviting.

Before he can enter the water something disrupts the surface and Stiles jumps, thinking about alligators and loch ness monsters and the rare river sharks. His fears abate when he realizes the shape is just Derek Hale. 

And it makes sense, doesn’t it, wolves tend to seek out water in the summer to stay cool, but Stiles is still caught off guard to find anyone else here. Two encounters with Derek in a day are two more than Stiles is used to. 

Derek spots him and begins to swim slowly over to the shore where Stiles is standing. When the water becomes shallow he stands and begins to walk over to Stiles. 

He’s wearing absolutely nothing. 

No swim suits for Derek Hale, apparently. Water glistens off of his body and Stiles is disgusted with his inability to take his eyes off of him.

“Did you follow me here?” Derek asks. 

Stiles hesitates. “No,” he says, “I was just looking to cool off, you know, go for a swim, get out of the house…” he trails off as Derek continues to scowl in his direction. 

Derek turns and, yeah, he looks just as good from behind. “Fine. Better come in then,” he says, looking at Stiles over his shoulder before sinking below the surface. 

Stiles isn’t sure of the appropriate response. Should he keep on his swimsuit and go in? Or would Derek think that was rude? Lured by the promise of cool water on his skin Stiles quickly shucks off his t-shirt and more reluctantly his trunks and begins to wade into the lake. 

He looks up to find Derek staring at him, eyes raking over his body. 

Under Derek’s scrutiny Stiles’ skin suddenly feels too small, tight on his body. He’s all too conscious of how young he is, teenage body that he’s still waiting to grow into, stretched a tad too thin. As he enters the cool water his chest seizes up and it takes everything to stop himself from turning around and running. 

Derek slowly wades over and up close it’s worse. Where Derek’s skin is smooth and unmarred Stiles knows that his own is livid; a purple bruise darkening his forearm where he’d carelessly bumped a wall, an angry red scab across his hip where he’d scratched against a sharp table corner. Freckles and moles on his shoulders, his narrow back. 

Derek reaches up, touching his hair. “There’s a leaf,” he says, though his hand lingers. 

Despite the sun beating down overhead Stiles feels a chill of anticipation snake down his spine. Derek removes his hand and it skims over Stiles’ bare shoulder on it’s way back to Derek. 

“You should come back to the house,” Derek says, “It’s getting late.”

And if that doesn’t sound like a creepy pedophile line, Stiles doesn’t know what does. It isn’t that late, the sun is still visible overhead though it’s taken on the slant of late afternoon and when Derek turns to head back to the bank Stiles follows. 

Stiles watches as he reaches the bank, locates his discarded denim cutoffs. It should look awkward as Derek tries to pull stiff denim up over wet skin but instead the clinging fabric draws Stiles’ eyes, his gaze scorching along its path. 

Derek finally gets the jeans up and buttoned, grabs his shirt and tosses it half hazardly over his shoulder. He gives Stiles a pointed look, eyebrows raised, and Stiles is so, so fucked. 

He makes his way out of the water and, much less smoothly than Derek, makes his way back into his clothes. Even after the respite of the lake he feels too hot, his thoughts fuzzy and scrambled. Maybe it’s the heat or maybe it’s the feel of Derek’s eyes on his turned back as he struggles into his shorts. 

“I was looking for Scott earlier,” Derek says lowly. 

Stiles was there for that, so yeah, he knows. 

“There are some things he needs to know.”

The statement is vague, practically screaming for Stiles to respond. It’s probably some wolf thing and Stiles’ best friend happens to be a wolf now so he thinks it’s within reason that he should probe. 

“What does he need to know? Is it something about the Argents? Is it Allison? Did you uncover some new kind of wolfsbane?” Stiles knows they’re stupid questions but he can’t keep his mouth closed.

“It’s about heat,” Derek responds. 

It’s such a strange thing to say and suddenly Stiles doesn’t want to follow Derek home, doesn’t want to hang out at his creepy old house no matter how great his air conditioning works. He looks at Derek sideways, vision obscured by his wetly clumped eyelashes, and tries to get a read on what he’s thinking. 

Derek just stares back baldly, eyes fixed on Stiles but revealing nothing. 

“Actually, you know I just remembered that my dad will be home soon. And I have to make dinner. So I better go.”

He can still feel Derek’s eyes on him. Stiles walks backwards slowly, back toward his Jeep, and Derek is stopped halfway between Stiles and the house. 

“If I see Scott I’ll tell him that you’re looking for him.” Stiles says before he turns and breaks into a brisk walk back to the Jeep. He can still feel Derek’s eyes burning into his back. 

*

The heat doesn’t break. It hangs around, baking Beacon Hills. The pavement gets so hot that it cracks, pipes bursting and flooding the streets though the water quickly dries up. The air hangs thickly with no relief. 

Stiles is at home watching television. He feels restless and if he’s honest with himself, a little bit uneasy. He hasn’t heard from Scott since he left for the beach. He hasn’t seen Derek around either. 

He’s trying to pay attention to the show but his mind keeps wandering and something feels off. 

It’s a re-run of some one-hour drama and instead he’s thinking about the woods. About the green shade of the evergreens, the smell of tree bark in the summer heat. 

He’s thinking he should be there. He should go to the woods. He knows it isn’t logical and if he’s honest he’s creeping himself out a little bit right now but he feels bodily drawn there.

For the second time that week Stiles hops in the jeep, drives to the woods. Wanders aimlessly, thinks about nothing. The air is so thick that it hurts to breathe and it’s almost a struggle to stay on his feet. He feels dazed. 

And out of nowhere the sky opens up, a sudden shock of rain drenching his skin and soaking through his clothes. His first instinct is to run, to shelter in the safety of his Jeep, but the prospect of a summer storm is too enticing and so he continues his walk. 

He’s surprised, though there’s nothing surprising about it, when he finds himself standing in front of the Hale house. Derek is sitting on the porch sheltered from the rain. He looks at Stiles, tilts his head as if to say, come. Come here. 

Stiles ambles up the front steps, stops in front of Derek. 

“You’re soaked,” he says, dark brows knitting across his forehead. 

“Yeah, well, it is raining,” Stiles replies petulantly. 

Derek’s eyes trail from his face, down his neck where rivulets of water race toward his collar bones, to the stretch of his wet shirt across his shoulders, down, down to where his toes are squelching wetly in his water-logged shoes. 

“You’ll get sick, wearing wet clothes,” Derek says, “You’ll catch a cold.”

Stiles looks out to where the rain is still falling. “That isn’t true. You can’t actually get sick from the cold. I looked it up on WebMD.” He thinks his heart rate may have picked up. 

Derek shrugs. “You should come inside.”

He thinks back to the last time Derek had invited him, three days ago, the uncertainty he’d felt then. Just as he was pulled to the forest this evening though, he feels like there’s no choice but to turn and follow Derek inside. 

It’s strange, being in a Hale house that isn’t a burnt out shell. Derek has made improvements, improvements like adding back walls and floors and even, sparsely, furniture. He disappears upstairs and Stiles doesn’t know if he should follow. He’s still wet and he doesn’t want to trail water through the house so he stands in the foyer, dripping onto the tile. 

Derek returns with clothes, a t-shirt and gym shorts that he hands to Stiles. 

“You should change, we can put your clothes in the dryer.”

Stiles feels self conscious, doesn’t want to strip down with Derek just standing there, but he thinks back to the day at the lake. He peels his wet clothes off, slowly, because they stick to him as if they know his reluctance. When he’s stripped of everything Derek gathers up the wet clothes and heads to what Stiles assumes is his laundry room. 

Stiles quickly pulls on the dry clothes hating the way they are too big, how the shirt gapes around his chest and shoulders. He has to fold over the waistband of the shorts three times.

He looks up to find that Derek has returned but has stopped in the doorway, eyes hot, fixed on Stiles. Just as quickly he blinks and the stare is gone. 

“Do you want a drink?” Derek asks. 

Stiles nods his head, yes, and follows Derek into the kitchen. 

Derek rummages through the cabinets and pulls down two glasses, a bottle of whiskey, and oh he meant a Drink. He sloshes some into each of the glasses and hands one to Stiles. 

“You’re quiet,” Derek says, taking a sip of his whiskey, “usually you never shut up.”

“Nothing to say,” Stiles replies, though what he’s thinking is that there’s something about the silence that scares him. That, if he were to break it, something might happen, something that he can’t anticipate. But he can’t explain that to Derek so he just flashes a tentative smile and chokes on a too large sip of whiskey. 

Derek grins, a flash of white, says “Easy.”

When he takes another sip his teeth clank against the lip of the glass, just a touch too sharp. Stiles has to hold back a shudder. 

“Is your Dad at home tonight?” Derek asks. 

Stiles licks a stray drop of whiskey off of his upper lip and there’s that look again from Derek, his eyes following Stiles’ tongue. “He’s working tonight. Overtime. It seems there’ve been some more animal attacks around town, gotta keep an eye on things.”

He watches as Derek turns, fills his glass with water from the tap. Nonchalant. 

“You don’t know anything about that, do you?”

Derek shrugs his shoulders but he’s still not facing Stiles, instead staring out the window above the sink. The sun has set and here in the woods all Stiles can see is darkness. “You should probably head home. The rain’s stopped.”

Stiles chokes down the rest of his drink, he really isn’t the type of teenager that drinks hard liquor, or any alcohol for that matter, and what was Derek thinking giving him whiskey anyway?

“Clothes?” Stiles asks. 

“You can wear mine home for now,” Derek replies, “Yours still aren’t dry.”

Stiles isn’t ready to leave. The feeling from earlier, that feeling of discontent, has evaporated since he’s been here with Derek. Still, he knows that he should leave. Even though angry-werewolf-Derek seems to have been absent for the past few days, perhaps subdued by the heat, Stiles doesn’t want to be around to witness his return. 

He rinses his glass in the sink and is turning to leave when he feels a hand on his shoulder. 

“You’re fine to drive?” Derek asks. His eyebrows are knitted together and Stiles knows its supposed to look like concern but it’s not.

“Yeah, I’m good, I’ll be fine.” Derek nods, turns, and disappears into the living room. 

Stiles lets himself out. 

*

He puts off returning Derek’s clothes. Isn’t sure that he’s ready to be back in that house. Isn’t ready to face the big bad wolf he thinks to himself, grinning. One afternoon though he comes home to his dad pulling Derek’s clothes out of the dryer, frowning, and Stiles can’t have him getting any ideas, so. 

He finds the front door unlocked and when he steps into the house what he sees stops him in his tracks. Derek is hunched in the corner, naked from the waist up. He’s on his knees, back to Stiles, a pair of handcuffs trapping his arms behind his back. 

Stiles’ first thought is holy fuck, Derek Hale in handcuffs, but that’s quickly overshadowed by a rising sense of panic. Who could have beaten Derek in a fight, not just beaten him but subdued him enough to get him into handcuffs?

He approaches Derek slowly; as he gets closer he notes Derek’s labored breathing, a slight redness to the skin around his wrists, which isn’t right, Derek should be able to heal. He doesn’t know if Derek hears him or not and the last thing he wants is to startle a caged animal. 

“Derek,” Stiles says quietly, “Derek, I’m here. It’s Stiles. I’m here now, it’s ok.”

Derek slowly turns to look at Stiles over his shoulder and Stiles takes a quick step backward, then another; Derek’s eyes are glowing red, unfocused. 

He’s panting, chest rising and falling at a painfully rapid pace. 

“You need to go,” he grits out through a tightly clenched jaw, “go now.”

And they may not be friends or maybe not even what Stiles would call acquaintances but Stiles isn’t going to leave Derek restrained in his own home. He approaches Derek slowly, taking a step at a time and waiting to gauge Derek’s reaction. 

When he gets close enough he places a hand on one of Derek’s sweaty shoulders, thinks, gross. Wolf sweat. When Derek doesn’t immediately rip out his intestines he let’s the hand trail down, maintains contact until he’s got his fingers wrapped around the chain of the handcuffs. 

“Derek who, who did this to you?”

He can see Derek swallow, watches a drop of sweat slide down his Adam’s apple. 

“I did it to myself.”

And he isn’t smiling, it isn’t a joke. He doesn’t look sheepish or angry, just keeps his eyes focused on a faraway spot on the carpet. 

Stiles doesn’t know what to do because who the fuck chains themself up and then sits there looking miserable about it? He absentmindedly gives the handcuffs a little tug and Derek lets out a noise of distress. 

It’s enough to snap Stiles out of his thoughts and he let’s go, backs off to a safe running distance. Derek groans again and his body drops down, head resting against the carpet. He rolls over and Stiles takes a second to think about how uncomfortable that’s got to be with the handcuffs before his gaze snaps down the Derek’s hips, pushed up off of the ground. 

He’s hard, so hard, straining against the zip of his jeans. Stiles can actually see the outline of his dick and he starts to get a little bit turned on himself, because. Seventeen. Staring at a desperately aroused Derek Hale is the closest he’s ever come to sex. 

“Stiles, you need to go,” Derek pants. “You need to run.”

Stiles is frozen, can’t take his eyes away from Derek. From his body, his face that’s screwed tight in agony, drenched in sweat. Mumbles, “I could help. I could help with that.”

Derek’s face just hardens and he looks away. “That’s not an option.”

And Stiles knows, he knows, guys like Derek Hale are not interested in people like Stiles, no matter how desperate they are. Knows that he’s never, will never be Derek’s type. But he’s still angry. 

“What, not an option because I’m,” he gets out before Derek cuts him off. 

“Human. Because you’re human Stiles.”

There’s no good response to that so Stiles turns, finds himself once again exiting Derek’s house alone. 

Says, as he walks out the door, “Let me know if you change your mind.”

*

The alpha pack comes to Beacon Hills and it’s a lot less exciting, a lot less gloom and doom, than Stiles is expecting. 

“Stay away from them,” Derek tells him when they awkwardly run into one another at the gas station, “just stay away.”

Scott is still on vacation. Erica and Boyd are still missing. Isaac signs up for summer classes at Beacon Hills Community College and is never around to train or to talk or to eat steak dinners and Derek ends up looking sad and slightly confused every time Stiles sees him.

Stiles spends a lot of time taking long showers, three fingers twisted inside of himself. Just in case. 

*

The Sheriff, unbelievably, decides to make Derek Hale his pet project and insists that he shouldn’t spend so much time alone in that dingy house out in the woods. Insists that Stiles call Derek and invite him to grill for the Fourth of July. Says, “All of your friends are out of town anyway,” and by friends he means Scott.

Stiles doesn’t know how to begin to explain to his father that it’s too awkward to be around Derek right now because he refused to fuck his underage son. Can’t make himself explain that Derek doesn’t actually own a cell phone because his got destroyed by a Kanima. That Derek mainly communicates by showing up, uninvited.

So instead he shows up at Derek’s house. Forces Derek into his Jeep, drives him to the grocery store, leads him to the hot dog aisle. And ultimately that’s where everything goes to shit.

“And which one are you?”

Startled, Stiles looks around but he only sees a scrubby looking older guy, sunglasses and a cane. He looks like he’s seen better days. Maybe better years. 

“Because,” he says, weirdly fixated on Stiles even though Stiles has the impression he can’t actually see him, “you smell delicious.”

Derek, to his right, stiffens imperceptibly. Stiles swears he can see nostrils flare but he’s too weirded out by blind-and-homeless to really pay attention to Derek. 

“Not pack,” says their new friend, grinning slightly. 

And Derek stiffens more than imperceptibly at that, body rigid, fists clenched at his sides. His eyes are flickering, brown to red. 

“He’s not for you.” Derek says. 

The other guy still has that creepy grin and it’s getting wider. “Not for me? Why would you say that, Hale?”

And yeah, Stiles is not surprised at all that Derek is acquainted with this questionable character. 

“He’s off limits,” Derek says, taking two small steps forward. Scowling, fists still clenched. 

Stiles is looking everywhere but at Derek, looking at the freezer cases of meat and the ugly linoleum floor of the super market and the frayed end of his shoelace. 

“Well. I guess we’ll see about that.” And the guy backs away, pretty gracefully for a blind dude Stiles thinks. 

Derek doesn’t relax until the bell at the front of the door chimes to indicate that he’s gone. 

“Who was that?” Stiles asks, “Was he blind? How do you know him?” and, “Is he a werewolf?”

Derek scowls some more, puts a hand low on Stiles’ back and leads him out of the store to his Jeep. 

“That was Deucalion.” Derek says. 

Stiles stares at him blankly. 

“He’s…he’s part of the alpha pack.”

Stiles snorts. “Oh The Alpha Pack?” Grips the steering wheel a little bit tighter. “The one that I’m staying away from? The one that I know absolutely nothing about?”

Derek predictably says nothing. 

“How do you know him?” Stiles asks. He’s imagining wolf hangouts, imagining Derek laughing with the alpha pack at his house, fixing them a steak dinner and joking about how everyone in Beacon Hills is dumb, worthless. So glad to be around wolves and not Stiles. 

“It’s customary to introduce yourself when you enter someone else’s territory,” Derek replies. 

Stiles looks over, sees him grimacing. “What else? Just introductions, a quick hello?”

It takes Derek a second to respond. “There are also…gifts.”

“What like new house linens? Did he bring you those awful curtains?”

Derek looks really unhappy. “It’s. I guess it’s complicated. Things have changed but Deucalion is somewhat…traditional.”

They pull up to Stiles’ house and Stiles parks the car but leaves the engine running. Stares at Derek. 

“He wants somebody. Somebody for the pack.”

Stiles is thinking biting, thinking of Scott in the days after he was bit. Of blood. “What like a new member? They can’t recruit on their own?”

Derek frowns. He’s uncomfortable. “Not like that.”

“Like wha…oh” And now Stiles is the uncomfortable one. 

“You got in a fight in the hot dog section over whether some stranger could have me as a concubine?” Stiles is maybe shouting, a little bit. 

“He wasn’t going to touch you.” Derek is staring fixedly out of the window. 

Stiles looks down, scuffs his thumb across the denim of his jeans. “You didn’t even ask me. Maybe I was interested.”

And that gets Derek to turn around, to look at Stiles, finally. 

“That isn’t what you want Stiles. He’s not fun. He’s dangerous.”

Stiles pushes open the door of the Jeep and starts walking up to the house. Derek catches up to him on the front porch. 

“Do I really smell,” Stiles asks, “delicious?”

Derek looks pissed. “I’m not. We aren’t actually wolves Stiles.”

Stiles’ dad yells at him for coming back from the store empty handed, asks “What were you doing for half an hour?” and Stiles can’t think of an appropriate answer so he has to go back. 

*

Derek hangs around more, after that. 

He follows Stiles to the dentist and to the 7-11 when he wants an Icee. Watches him eat the whole thing with the little straw spoon, eyebrows knitted. They spend a memorable afternoon at the Gap where Stiles has to lock the dressing room door before Derek can follow him in. He actually picks Stiles up in the Camaro one afternoon when Stiles mentions wanting to stop at the library. 

Beacon Hills Regional Library is not someplace Stiles has ever imagined Derek but he’s insistent, almost infuriatingly so, that he go with Stiles. And when they walk through the double doors Stiles understands why. 

Looking back at him from the front desk are two identical pairs of eyes. Two identical smirks, two cocked eyebrows. 

Derek is giving off the same vibe from the grocery store and Stiles thinks, oh great more werewolves. 

The twins are big, buff. Tan. One of them has on a t-shirt with the sleeves cut off which really? At the library? They look kind of sleazy in the way that Stiles likes. Good looking for sure, but not like Derek, bone structure not quite as sharp and grins a little too wide, a little bit off. 

“Hey there,” one of them leers from behind the counter. “What can I do for you?”

Stiles is really worried that Derek is going to tear out a throat or two. 

“We’re just browsing, I think,” Stiles says. 

“That’s fine,” the other replies. “We can help you with anything. Anything you need.” He winks, doesn’t even try to be subtle. 

Stiles finds himself herded into the nonfiction aisle, Derek practically pressed against his back. “I wanted to look for American Gods,” he whines. 

Derek scowls, pulls a book about horticulture from the shelf. “Tough.”

“Derek,” Stiles says, “Did you or did you not know that there would be alpha twins here?”

Derek shrugs. “They work here, it’s a summer job.”

“Ahhhh,” Stiles says. “So they’re what, my age? Maybe I’ll have classes with them in the fall.”

Derek glances over, eyes slanted.

“I wonder if, yeah, I’m sure coach will want them on the lacrosse team. They’re tall. Probably I’ll see them in the locker room.”

Derek visibly pales which, given his skin tone, is impressive. Puts the horticulture book back on the shelf and Stiles notices five faint rips in the cover. 

“I told you Stiles,” He grits out, “I told you to stay away from the alpha pack. You know why.”

And Stiles has always been a little shit so he turns to Derek, says, “I don’t know, they aren’t creepy like the blind guy.” Picks a book off the shelf, Planting The Wild Garden, says, “They look pretty fun.”

He swears that he can see a blood vessel throbbing in Derek’s forehead. “There’s, you know, not a lot going on around here.” Derek is pulling books off of the shelves, glancing at the titles and angrily putting them back. “I think it could be good for me to make some new friends to have,” Stiles turns sideways, looks at Derek from underneath his eyelashes, “new experiences.”

There’s a loud crack and Derek definitely just broke the spine of the hardcover he’s holding, he’s totally going to have to pay a fine. The thought of that has Stiles grinning until a head pops around the corner. 

And seriously, glasses? Stiles doubts that werewolves can even have vision problems, with the exception of blind alpha daddy of course. 

“Is everything alright over here?” he asks, voice a low rumble in his chest, “I heard some loud voices and this is a library.”

“Sorry,” Stiles whispers. Meets the twin’s eyes, shrugs his shoulders with a grin. “I’m actually looking for a book…”

Derek stomps off in the opposite direction as the twin wraps an arm around Stiles’ shoulders and leads him to the back of the library, leans over him to reach for a book on an upper shelf. Standing in somebody’s bare armpit shouldn’t be so appealing but Stiles can feel himself flushing. 

When Stiles goes to check out the other twin is at the counter, wrapped in a cardigan. It’s a good effort but Stiles really isn’t buying this librarian crap. His nametag says “Ethan”. 

“Do you have a library card,” Ethan asks, smiling, all teeth. 

“Um,” says Stiles, but before he can finish answering Derek is at his back, literally, pressed against him from knees to shoulders as he reaches around to slap a plastic card onto the counter. 

“He can just use mine,” Derek says. Stiles feels a warm hand close around his shoulder. 

“That’s fine,” the unnamed twin says, “just be sure not to lose anything.” He’s staring Derek down as he says it. 

Derek pulls at Stiles’ shoulder, drags him back to the Camaro. Stiles has to swat his hands away when he tries to fasten the seat belt for him. 

“Stay away from the library,” says Derek. 

“We’ll see,” says Stiles.

*

Stiles doesn’t go back to the library. He finishes American Gods and mysteriously it gets returned and replaced with Good Omens, which Stiles has already read though he doesn’t mention that to Derek. 

Beacon Hills continues to swelter. Every day the weather forecasts cooler temps, a big storm to break the heat, but it still hasn’t hit. Stiles thinks his body is starting to adapt. 

One afternoon he gets a text from an unknown number.

-This is Derek Hale. 

Stiles rolls his eyes because how many Dereks even live in Beacon Hills? Exactly one, that’s how many. His phone beeps again.

-I could use some help.

Typical, that Derek would text exactly like he speaks, short sentences, to the point.

-I have a new phone. 

Stiles catches himself rolling his eyes, again. Taps out a quick reply. 

-on my way there bettr be snacks

When he pulls up in Derek’s driveway he sees Derek on his porch scowling down at an iPhone. He looks up when Stiles slams his car door shut. 

“So, need some help with the new phone?” he asks. 

“What? No,” Derek replies. “I meant that I need help with some yard work.”

Stiles is ready to turn back home, because people with werewolf strength can do their own yard work thank you very much, but Derek has this half scared half hopeful look on his face and Stiles can’t tell him no. 

It turns out Derek has all of these plants he bought at the local nursery, rose bushes and hydrangeas and Mexican heather. He even has some little saplings and Stiles doesn’t ask how he got all of it home in the Camaro. It turns out that when you try to burn a house to the ground the landscape really suffers, so Derek is starting from scratch. 

They work side by side and Derek is very particular, makes Stiles put plants in areas where they’ll get the right amount of sunlight and has him replant the border ferns when the line isn’t very straight and Stiles is starting to wonder…

“…Did you check out that gardening book from the library?” 

Derek looks sheepish. “Ethan said that I damaged the fragile binding. He made me buy them a replacement copy.” 

Derek’s got a smudge of dirt on his cheekbone and Stiles is feeling a little giddy. Snorts out a laugh, says, “Whatever Johnny Appleseed, you promised me snacks.”

“That nickname’s not really appropriate,” Derek says, but he goes inside to get the snacks anyway. 

Stiles is leaning against the porch, trying to get out of the sun and thinking about how all of these poor plants will probably shrivel up and die in this heat when a shadow falls over him. A shadow with a cane. 

“Hello sweetheart,” says Deucalion. “It’s been a while.”

Stiles stomach drops and he feels his palms start to get a little bit sticky with sweat. Deucalion has on a glitzy pair of sunglasses and because Stiles is busy looking at them he doesn’t notice the two other shadows approach. 

“Hey Stilinski,” says Ethan. The other one, Aiden, Derek said his name was Aiden, is smirking. He’s got on that cut off t-shirt again but he’s ditched the librarian glasses. He wanders up and leans against the porch next to Stile’s head, hands in his pockets. He smells like breath mints. 

“So, hey guys,” Stiles says. He’s never been in such close proximity to such a large number of people who are probably thinking about fucking him. 

“What’s this,” Derek says, walking back onto the front porch. He’s got a pitcher of lemonade and a bag of pretzels and Stiles seriously wants to die. 

Aiden cocks his hip and smiles up at Derek, all teeth. “We heard there was a party.”

“And,” says Ethan, “it was so rude not to invite us.”

Deucalion pokes at the ground with his cane, narrowly misses taking out a baby spruce. “Mm, you know it isn’t really a party with just two, Hale.” He smiles and, yeah, Stiles is scared shitless but also a little bit turned on. 

“I think,” Derek says, “that you have overstayed your welcome.” His eyes flash red, just for a second. 

Deucalion doesn’t look the least bit put off. “Fine,” he says. “But we’re growing bored. Better hope this heat breaks soon.” He jerks his head toward the woods and turns, the twins retreating after him. Stiles doesn’t move until well after they’ve cleared the line of trees. 

“What is with them?” Stiles asks. 

Derek looks exhausted, suddenly, sets the lemonade pitcher down on the stairs. “It’s kind of been a weird summer here.”

*

Things are going well so Stiles should expect it when he shows up to Derek’s on a Thursday to find him slumped on the couch, eyes wide and shirt soaked through with sweat. He’s got that same crazed look, the one from the day with the handcuffs that Stiles has tried to block out but also jerks off to sometimes.

“Stiles,” he says. “You really, really need to go.”

Stiles is either feeling extremely brave or extremely stupid. “Actually I think I should stay,” he says. He sits down in the office chair that Derek’s inexplicably put across from the couch. “Do you want me to get the handcuffs.”

Derek groans but then starts to nod frantically. “Kitchen. Silverware drawer.”

Who the fuck keeps their handcuffs with their cutlery, Stiles thinks as he opens drawers at random until the glinting metal catches his eye. “Do these have wolfsbane in them?” he asks Derek, over his shoulder. 

“What,” says Derek. He really is out of it. 

“Last time you, there were bruises,” Stiles replies, settling back into the chair. 

“I had been wearing them for…a while,” Derek says. 

Stiles stomach squirms a little bit. “Like, how long is a while?”

“Um,” says Derek, “12 hours?”

If he weren’t already clearly distressed Stiles would beat him upside the head with the handcuffs, because he’d let Stiles walk away the last time. Walk away and leave him there going through whatever the fuck he’s going through now. “So is this a sex thing,” Stiles asks, even though he can see Derek’s dick jutting up against his zipper. 

“It’s a wolf thing,” Derek says. “Will you put the handcuffs on please.”

For a second Stiles thinks Derek means for him to wear the handcuffs and a hot thrill of arousal runs through him before he glances over at Derek again, writhing on the couch. His shirt is pushed up and Stiles thinks his nipples look a little bit swollen like maybe the damp fabric has rubbed against them for too long. 

“Ok,” Stiles says as he walks over. Lifts Derek’s shirt over his head and off his arms and Derek groans every time Stiles makes contact with skin. Derek leans forward so that Stiles can fasten the handcuffs around his wrists, secure his arms behind his back. 

“You aren’t on drugs, are you?” Stiles asks. Derek shakes his head, no. 

Stiles thinks that Derek could probably break right through the handcuffs, if he really wanted. 

“Maybe I should,” Stiles mumbles as he reaches toward Derek’s zipper, “these look a little bit tight.”

Derek has his head tilted against the back of the couch, eyes shut, and that’s not going to work. “Derek,” Stiles says. “Derek!”

His head snaps forward and he makes eye contact, nods his head. Stiles throat goes dry. He reaches out and his hand is shaking a little bit but he tells himself that Derek is so out of it that he probably won’t notice. Pops the button on Derek’s jeans, pulls down the zipper. 

He falters after that, takes a step back from the couch and looks at Derek. Even like this, strung out on something Stiles can’t understand, he looks beautiful. Way better than any alpha twins ever could. 

Derek uses his bound hands to start pushing down his jeans from behind and takes his underwear with them. Stiles can only stare as he frees his trapped cock, watches as it smacks wetly against his stomach. Jesus, he thinks. Nobody should look that good. 

His dick is flushed red, blood filled and angry, and Stiles really can’t just stand there. He gets on his knees, scoots forward a little bit. Derek has his eyes glued to him and Stiles should maybe feel embarrassed but he’s not. 

“Can I touch you?” he asks, tentative. 

“Yeah,” Derek replies, “please.”

Stiles is nervous, heart in his throat as he puts a hand on Derek’s dick. Thinks better of it and takes his hand off, spits into his palm and Derek groans as Stiles slides his hand down the length. Stiles has big hands and he can cover most of Derek with just one. He likes the way his fingers look, pulling and flexing over Derek’s dick. Still, he thinks he’d like it even better in his mouth. 

Derek yelps a little bit when Stiles closes his mouth over the head and maybe he’s being a little bit careless with his teeth but it’s the thought that counts, right? He goes slowly, doesn’t want to be the guy that chokes himself on Derek Hale’s cock. Sucking dick is a lot harder than he anticipated and before he knows it he has a sore jaw and there’s spit and precome sliding down his chin. He probably should have taken his shirt off because the collar is soaked through from the mess. He always imagined giving blowjobs would be sexy but he’s kind of gross. 

He expects that Derek’s either blissed out or annoyed at how long he’s taking because he’s pretty quite up there but when Stiles opens his eyes and glances up Derek is focused on him completely. The wild look from before has faded slightly and he looks more lucid. 

“You,” he starts to say, has to cough to clear the rasp from his voice, “you’re doing great,” he says. 

There’s a faint pop, metal breaking and Stiles startles as Derek’s hand come out from behind him, handcuffs broken in two. 

“Shh,” says Derek, bringing one hand down to touch Stiles’ cheekbone, his jaw. Sweeps down to brush a collarbone. 

Stiles keeps going down on him, determined to finish what he’s started but it just isn’t happening. He feels a gentle hand on his chin pulling him up, pulling him off. Derek grabs one of Stiles’ hands, wraps it around his cock and says, “Like this.”

Stiles jerks him once, twice, three times and Derek’s stomach muscles are tightening, eyes clinching shut as he comes all over his belly and Stiles’ forearm. 

He doesn’t move for a couple of seconds, just relaxes back into the couch. Finally he opens his eyes, grabs his t-shirt off of the ground and wipes himself down. Looks at Stiles before tugging him onto the couch. 

“Do you want,” Derek says as he runs his knuckles down the front of Stiles’ jeans. 

“I’m not really,” Stiles says, “I was really nervous, so.”

Derek looks crestfallen, really genuinely upset. 

“But like, maybe we could make out,” Stiles says. 

It turns out Derek is totally ok with making out. 

*

A storm hits, literally, a couple of days later. There’s thunder and lightening and Stiles has to wait it out at home because the street in front of his house floods. Once the water subsides he drives to Derek’s. Knocks and waits until Derek finally opens the door. He’s wearing a hideous pair of Nike track pants and looks groggy. 

“Were you sleeping?” Stiles asks. “Because dude, you kind of missed a huge storm and also I think half of your garden washed away.”

Derek just blinks at him sleepily. 

“Ok well I brought some lube so maybe we can fuck now,” says Stiles. 

“Um,” says Derek. 

It turns out Scott totally lied and werewolves actually have a pretty normal refractory period but Stiles still comes three times. 

*

August rolls around, as it always does, and it’s time for Stiles to head back to school. Derek insists on dropping him off for the first day which, as Stiles points out, is not the best way to keep a low profile when you’re fucking the sheriff’s underage son. Derek pretends like he has no idea what Stiles is saying and loads his backpack into the Camaro. 

They pull up to the high school and of course, alpha twins. Stiles had forgotten all about Ethan and Aiden, has had a lot of other, more appealing things on his mind lately. The boys slink up to the Camaro but stop short about two feet away from the car. 

“Hey,” Stiles says, because he is nothing if not friendly. 

“What’s up,” says Aiden, “looks like you had a good summer.“ He says it flatly, no flirting tilt to his voice, no toothy grin. Stiles is a little bit offended. 

“Well, I guess we’ll see you around,” says Ethan. He gives Stiles a little nod and the twins walk away. Nobody even tries to stand uncomfortably close to Stiles. 

“What the hell,” Stiles says, turning to Derek. “Do I no longer smell delicious?”

Derek shrugs, doesn’t quite meet Stiles’ eyes. 

“Oh my god! That’s it isn’t it. Can they smell that I’m not a virgin anymore?”

Derek looks alarmed, quickly answers, “No.”

Stiles gives him the side eye. Puts his hands on his hips. 

“It dropped like twenty degrees,” Derek says, “your scent isn’t as strong without all of the…sweat,” Derek finishes, lamely. 

“You are totally full of shit,” Stiles huffs. 

“Whatever,” Derek mumbles, “I told you, we aren’t actually wolves.”

Stiles just raises an eyebrow, turns to go into the school building. Looks over his shoulder and smiles at Derek until the Camaro pulls out onto the street.

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: SHRIEKING guys this happened  
>   
> EDIT 2: OH NO AND NOW THIS. Those glasses. I should probably post this on tumblr instead but oh well.  
> 


End file.
